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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24434461">i don’t hardly know her (but i think i could love her)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/untreasuring/pseuds/untreasuring'>untreasuring</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Legacies (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, F/F, Homophobic Language, Hosie, Internalized Homophobia, Love Simon AU, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:28:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24434461</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/untreasuring/pseuds/untreasuring</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone deserves at least one epic love story, but for 18-year-old Hope Mikaelson, it's a little bit more complicated. There are three things she knows for certain, and they tend to stress her out: </p><p>1. She thinks she's gay. </p><p>2. She hasn't told her parents or any of her friends that she's gay. </p><p>3. She's been talking with an anonymous classmate online, a girl she doesn't actually know the true identity of. The thing is... she thinks she's falling for her. </p><p>Or,</p><p>Love Simon AU in which Hope and Josie are extremely fluffy and soft and very unknowingly adore each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hope Mikaelson &amp; Josie Saltzman, Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>131</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's a Tuesday evening, and having finished her few homework assignments, Hope sits in her desk chair in front of her painting easel. The paintbrush gripped within her hand glides across the canvas effortlessly, the colors mixing together perfectly to match the distinct idea in her head.</p><p> </p><p>It had been a while since Hope had gotten the opportunity to paint, all her time occupied by school, homework, or her position as captain of the school's softball team. Through her usually busy schedule, she's beyond grateful for the free time she had been able to receive tonight. </p><p> </p><p>Just Hope, the canvas, and her paintbrushes. </p><p> </p><p>The heavenly sound of Stevie Nicks' voice radiates through her speakers, relaxing her as she loses herself within each of the colors applied to the canvas. It was a mistake to think it would last forever though, as Hope lets out a harsh groan when her phone begins to ring. </p><p> </p><p>Annoyance fulfills Hope as she smacks her paintbrush down, genuinely not giving a damn about how the paint on the brush is freshly wet and had surely gotten onto her wooden desk, and snatches her phone from where it's placed on her bed. </p><p> </p><p>She tends not to keep it near her during times where she needs to concentrate. Easy distractions, and whatnot. </p><p> </p><p>Hope knits her brows in confusion at the sight of Penelope's contact name on the screen, requesting to video chat. It's odd, as her friends tend to typically just resort to sending minuscule texts, but she pushes the curiosity aside and answers the call. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey," Hope says, concealing her obvious irritation when her friend’s face displays on the screen. Any other time chatting with Penelope wouldn't bother her in the slightest, as the girl's her best friend, but she happened to be enjoying the rare free time she was having. "I was just in the middle of a painting, what's-"</p><p> </p><p>"Dude, you need to get on Facebook <em>right now</em>." Penelope exclaims urgently, interrupting her. The girl's brows are raised in anticipation, a smirk upon her lips. "Like, seriously. Go to the school's confessions page and look at the most recent post."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Okay...</em>" Hope drawls out as she rolls her eyes, her state of aggravation furthering at her friend's lack of explanation. She plops down onto her bed with a small huff, pulling her laptop in front of her and signing onto it. "What the hell is the new post and why are you freaking out about it?"</p><p> </p><p>"It's about the closeted gay girl at school."</p><p> </p><p>As soon as the words register in her mind, Hope's heart spikes, pounding against her chest relentlessly as dread whirlpools deep within her stomach. There's no way this is actually happening. It’s not a surprise that it was a slim to rather impossible chance of finding another gay kid in her town of Mystic Falls. Everything around her was very traditional and frankly boring.</p><p> </p><p>The thought of another girl from school having the same exact dilemma as Hope manages to make her feel as if she'd been lit on fire. Complete and utter confusion - and a little nausea - fulfills her entire being, but she attempts to subside it as she opens up Facebook.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn't take more than a few seconds to find the post Penelope had been talking about, as it's peaked at the very top of the page, having only been posted two hours ago and there are more than fifty different comment threads already. </p><p> </p><p>Whoever this girl is had chosen to post to the page using her email address, rather than a fake or anonymous Facebook account. An exceptional drawing of a Ferris wheel is what captures Hope's attention first, and she notes the drawing to be quite detailed and beautiful. She briefly wonders if the girl had drawn it herself, before her intense gaze shifts to the short caption posted above the image, her eyes widening as she reads it.  </p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>crimsonandclover@gmail.com:</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck on a Ferris wheel. One minute, I'm on top of the world, and the next, I'm sitting at rock bottom. Over and over... all day long, and I just don't know what to do, I feel so alone. I'm just a typical teenage girl that no one would suspect anything of... and I have amazing friends and an amazing family that I really love. My life is really great for the most part, but there's just one problem. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Nobody knows I like girls. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>- Clover </em>
</p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p>"Well?" Penelope's voice sounding from Hope's phone tugs her back into reality, still feeling a little fuzzy after she had finished reading the caption from the Facebook post. "Did you read it?"</p><p> </p><p>When the auburn-haired girl doesn't respond, Penelope continues mercilessly, giggling between her words as if the serious confession was some sort of joke. "I bet it's that weird chick in the back of our English class. You know, glasses...  really quiet all the time. I get a lesbian vibe for sure." </p><p> </p><p>Hope's jaw slacks, words lying upon her tongue but refusing to spill out. She swallows roughly, her mind unable to conjure up a single coherent thought. All she can think of is the fact someone at school, <em>another girl</em>, feels the same exact way she does.</p><p> </p><p>For the longest time, Hope has also felt alone. The aching feeling of wanting to open up to someone like a constant cloud shadowing over her head, and it's taunting, because she knows for certain that she could never talk about how she feels with anyone.</p><p> </p><p>Not her parents, at least for right now, as she's not ready to come out to either of them. And, by absolutely any means at all, not her friends. They're rather close-minded about the subject, surely unable to understand, and Hope fears telling them the truth in case she'll end up losing them. </p><p> </p><p>Hope decided a long time ago she would keep her deepest and darkest secret exactly what it is... <em>a secret.</em> The auburn-haired girl had made up her mind that she would never tell anyone, and she was completely fine with keeping it all to herself, just allow it to eat her alive until it inevitably drives her insane.</p><p> </p><p>That had been her exact intention, until right now, in this very moment. The opportunity of finally being able to open up and even lend some help to someone close by, someone who would relate to her in more ways than one, was presenting itself, and Hope knows she would be an idiot to pass it up. That reminder is what pushes her to commit to her next decision, acting quickly before her usual cowardice kicks in. </p><p> </p><p>"Could I call you right back?" Hope asks all in one breath, not allowing Penelope the chance to even blink before she quickly ends the call, tossing her upon one of her pillows. She'll just deal with her friend later. </p><p> </p><p>Her hands speedily type on the keyboard of her laptop, an intense mission on her mind, and it takes her less than a minute to create a new Gmail account and type in the other girl's email into the top bar, addressing her. Whether it's the delight of being able to help this girl, or the relief of being able to open up herself, the auburn-haired girl doesn't know what exactly is motivating all of her actions.</p><p> </p><p>Hope bites her lip, feeling slightly hesitant as a million thoughts of what she could possibly say flickers through her head. Although it might intimidate the other girl, she can't stop herself from spilling everything out all at once, her fingers seemingly developing minds of their own as they type at an inhumane pace. </p><p>***</p><p><strong>To: </strong> <em>crimsonandclover@gmail.com</em></p><p> </p><p><strong>From:</strong> <em>tellmesweetlittlelies</em><em>@gmail.com</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>September 21st. 7:05 pm. </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>hi Clover, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>i'll be honest with you, i'm not sure what drove me to do this. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>it's just that the second i read your post on the confession's page, it's really all i could think about. i couldn't believe it... the fact that someone i go to school with, a girl, has the same exact problem as me. it made me so happy. </em> <em>i mean, obviously the circumstances of our issue didn't make me happy. i wish things were different and that neither of us had to be struggling right now. but the fact i suddenly don't feel so alone, it's just really wonderful. i think maybe... we could help each other. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>from what it seems, i'm just like you. i'm just a typical teenage girl with a huge ass secret. a secret i've kept to myself and allowed to completely consume me for months now. maybe it would be easier if i didn't have to keep this secret to myself, but that's the thing... nobody knows about me either.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>i'm not ready to come out to my parents, i don't know if i ever will be. my mother wouldn't mind, i know that. she adores me maybe a little too much, the same goes for my father, except i think it actually would upset him. i'm like his golden flower, we're really close, and i'd never want to disappoint him. it really scares me. the thought of telling any of my friends makes me literally want to pass out. they'd never understand, and maybe they'd even judge me and not want to be my friend anymore. i don't know. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>anyways, you should know you're not, and never will be, alone in this. i feel everything you feel. i've found it just takes time, i feel a lot better about it now, compared to just a few months ago when i used to hate myself. sometimes i'll still feel a little insecure when my friends point out boys they think are cute, but i always try to remind myself it's okay that i don't think the same as them. it's okay to love who you want to love. and it sounds so stupidly cliche, but it does get better. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>like i said, you're not alone. maybe we could help each other out... if you want. or maybe you won't even reply to this and i'll look like a total fucking idiot. either way, it's okay. and, if you wish to remain anonymous, then i will too. i hope to hear from you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>sincerely, Luna.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p>It had taken her a moment to come up with an alias, obviously wanting to keep her actual identity concealed, at least for now. Her mind flashes to the canvas she had just been painting, a detailed procurement of the moon, and the word serving as her temporary identity seemed to click just right.</p><p> </p><p>Hope sends the email without a second thought, quickly enough to prevent herself of any doubt. She bites her lip, an odd and overwhelming feeling overtaking her at the sight of the notification signifying the email had successfully been delivered.</p><p> </p><p>Closing her laptop shut and placing it upon her desk, Hope sighs before sauntering back towards the painting easel, sitting down and gripping her paintbrush once more. She attempts to devote her attention towards the halfway finished canvas, but she finds it to be quite difficult to concentrate. The only thought that seems to occur to her is of a certain anonymous girl with the alias of <em>Clover.</em></p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hope had never been so relieved to arrive home before. </p><p> </p><p>After practically bursting through the front door of her house, she slams it shut behind her before sprinting down the hallway and straight into her room. She tosses her backpack and phone on her desk and jumps into bed, quickly pulling her computer onto her lap and signing into it. </p><p> </p><p>It's been almost a whole twenty-four hours since she had sent her email to Clover, and Hope hadn't yet received the opportunity to check and see if the anonymous girl responded to her yet.</p><p> </p><p>This morning, shortly after waking up, her phone rang with the sound of a notification from Gmail, signifying a new message. Hope had flung upwards from her pillow in the blink of eye to check it in expectancy for it to be a response from Clover. All she received was disappointment settling in the pit of her stomach at the sight of a message from Gmail itself, welcoming her to her new account. </p><p> </p><p>Since then, Hope's anticipation only grew tremendously throughout the day. Suffering through the seven prolonged hours of school, forcing herself to concentrate on her homework during study hall rather than checking her phone every five seconds, then onto two whole hours of softball practice, where she was in charge of arranging the drills.</p><p> </p><p>It's close to the beginning of the season, meaning with every practice, the amount of drills and reprimanding only increased. It exhausted Hope more than she'd dare to admit, but being captain of the team, it was her responsibility to lead all the girls to victory in every game. She knows this much, as her father always finds a way to remind her everyday. </p><p> </p><p>Hope knows he's proud of her, but sometimes the amount of prosperity he expects of her on a daily basis is seriously draining. It only provides her further stress, as it's already relevant in her mind everyday that she never wants to disappoint either of her parents, <em>especially</em> her father.</p><p> </p><p>That's why the auburn-haired girl pushes herself constantly to be the best, even through the aching fatigue she feels more than half the time, because the smiles on her parents' faces are enough for her, it's enough to make her forget for a moment just how <em>tired</em> she really is. She thinks it's definitely the reason why she hasn't yet come out to either of them. </p><p> </p><p>It only takes a few seconds to swiftly open up Gmail on her laptop, and at the sight of a new email, a <em>response</em> from the anonymous girl, Hope feels as if she might faint. Quite frankly, at the lack of an answer yesterday night, she hadn't expected the other girl to reply to her at all. It makes her nervous, to wonder what Clover thought of her own confession, and the help she graciously offered to the girl. </p><p> </p><p>She clicks on the email from the anonymous messenger, her fingers shaking slightly against her will, a nervous ache flowing through her veins.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p><strong>To: </strong> <em>tellmesweetlittlelies@gmail.com</em></p><p> </p><p><strong>From: </strong> <em>crimsonandclover@gmail.com</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>September 22nd. 3:52 pm.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Luna, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hey. So, I really wasn't sure what exactly to think when I saw your email, and I definitely didn't know whether or not I should even reply. Truth be told, I thought it was some sort of pathetic joke. The fact someone actually wants to help me figure my shit out, the fact I'm actually being taken serious for once... it's a little overwhelming. I might have cried after I read your email for the 10th time last night. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yes, last night. I'm sorry I'm replying so late, I just had no idea what to say to something like that. Overwhelming, like I just said, and again, I doubted that it wasn't a joke. I've gotten like five other emails since I posted on the confessions page, either filled with homophobic slurs or incredibly stupid boys thinking they can "help me figure it out", so that was a little disgusting. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Even if it does actually turn out to be some sort of joke... I guess I'll risk it. Just because I'm so damn desperate for someone to hear me. I sort of feel like I'm drowning sometimes, or again, stuck on a Ferris wheel. There's incredible highs, but there's such depressing lows that it makes me want to just disappear. I think it's because I just don't have anyone to help me, I can't talk to anyone about it. I have no one to confide in, you know? I'm so afraid of what they'd think. I know I shouldn't be, I'm usually the girl that embraces her true colors and doesn't give a damn, but it's like everywhere I turn recently, there's something that makes me hate the fact I'm not straight. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My friends are really close-minded too, and my family, specifically my sister, is really worried about me. She tells me to stop being such a "depressing little emo" all the time, and I don't know if it more so pisses me off, or makes me want to bawl my eyes out. It's not even the fact that I like girls, it's the fact that I would never be accepted by people close to me. It's just like your situation. I can't lose the people I love, even to a ridiculous reason like me liking girls. I don't know what to do, it feels like I may not get any better. It feels like it will always be my dirty little secret. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I don't know. I'm just really terrified... I know I'm rambling, so I'm sorry about that. I guess maybe you actually do want to hear all that though? Since you emailed me first, saying you could help me, and I could help you. I'm not opposed to the idea, Luna. Maybe it could help me stop crying everyday. And I do want to stay anonymous, just for right now, at least. I'm not ready to reveal who I am yet, I hope that's okay. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I was curious: what exactly is your secret? Is it like mine, and you don't know what you are or how to comprehend it? Or have you found a label that helps you embrace yourself? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>From, Clover. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Hope blinks roughly and takes a deep breath as she reads the final line of the email, chewing on her bottom lip in deep thought. Halfway through reading the email, her eyes had began to water, just because she knows all too well the exact emotions that Clover is currently dealing with.</p><p> </p><p>She remembers how much she truly used to hate herself, attempt to oppress any sort of <em>thought </em>of attraction to another girl, and even used to cry herself to sleep some nights, thinking about what a disappointment she is. </p><p> </p><p>Needless to say, the auburn-haired girl's journey of self-discovering hadn't at all been healthy or even the smallest ounce of happy. </p><p> </p><p>Finding herself wanting to continue to be as open and honest as possible with the anonymous girl, Hope pulls her computer closer in her lap and begins to type out a response. It's a little frightening - the fact that she doesn't even know this girl, just having started emailing her yesterday, and yet the auburn-haired girl doesn't bother to hold anything back. The utmost truth is what she types out in response, not a single hint of hesitation or doubt in her thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p><strong>To: </strong> <em>crimsonandclover@gmail.com</em></p><p> </p><p><strong>From: </strong> <em>tellmesweetlittlelies@gmail.com</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>September 22nd. 7:35 pm. </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>hello, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>wow i really can't tell you how relieved i am that you actually responded to me. i felt really stupid once i sent that email last night, just because i didn't feel like you would want to talk to some stranger. granted, i know we go to the same school and we're both girls, but still. we both have no idea who the other is, and i don't really mind, i kind of like the mystery, which is why i understand your wish to stay anonymous, but i thought maybe it would freak you out or make you uncomfortable or something. but, i'm glad you want to talk to me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>i promise you, Clover, this isn't a joke. i know i'll have to earn your trust, but believe me when i say this is as real as it gets. i intend to prove that to you, i want to do everything i can to make this journey easier for you. it sure as hell hasn't been easy for me, and i know we can help each other. </em> <em>i know i don't know you, but like i said in my last email, i feel everything you feel. i was in your shoes once. i still kind of am... sometimes. figuring out your sexuality and learning to accept yourself and not give a damn about what others may think is such a long and sometimes heartbreaking process that everyone still struggles with, even if they think they don't. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>we live in a heteronormative society, and i really hate it. but there's nothing i want more right now than to help you out, and just be there for you. all i ask is that the only thing you hide from me is your identity. i want us to know each other, fully and honestly, if that's okay. i want you to know you can confide in me. we can confide in each other. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>as for my secret, it's been such a struggle trying to pinpoint what i am. i've been through a lot regarding figuring it out... and i think i can confidently say i'm gay. i've learned that labels seem to be a sense of comfort for most people, it can help with all the stress, putting a name to what you feel as if to understand it better. i'm definitely one of those people... as soon as i felt like i finally found the right term for myself, everything became so much easier. but you should know that labels are not at all a necessity. you can be whatever you want to be. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>you might be wondering how i knew i was gay... well, like i said, i've been through a lot regarding figuring it out. it's been stressful, especially dealing with everything alone, not being able to talk to anyone about what i'm feeling purely out of fear, and even tho i feel like i've accepted myself, sometimes it's still as if the whole world is on my shoulders, and my secret is burying me alive, piece by piece. i try not to think about it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>on a happier note for my self-discovery, </em> <em>i always had a rather suspicious and very non-platonic attraction towards Daenerys Targaryen every time i watched Game of Thrones with my mom. and i might have a little bit of a huge crush on Stevie Nicks. please tell me you listen to Fleetwood Mac too, since you seem to be an old school music lover just like me. at least i think you are, according to your email address. Crimson and Clover by Tommy James... such a classic. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>what about you, Clover? how did you realize you're not straight, and what's been the trouble with being able to comprehend it?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>from, Luna. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Josie rifles through the mess of books and folders in her locker with a small huff, her frustration growing by the second. The bell should ring at any moment now, and the brunette's art folder is nowhere to be found through the catastrophic mess that is the inside of her locker. Despite how many times she may clean it out throughout the week, it always manages to become a disaster in some way or another. </p><p> </p><p>A flash of purple between two textbooks catches her eye, and she sighs in relief at the sight of her folder. She snatches it out in a haste, and slams her locker shut before turning towards her friend, Landon. Everyday after lunch passes, he always makes sure to walk her to the Art classroom, since it's right next to his own next period, History.  </p><p> </p><p>"Okay, let's go before we're late!"  </p><p> </p><p>When Landon doesn't meet her eyes and stays leaned up against the lockers, seemingly stuck in a desirous daydream, Josie follows his gaze and nearly groans when she spots an all too familiar girl. </p><p> </p><p>"Seriously?" Josie shoves his chest with one hand, causing his daydream to cease as he stumbles into the lockers behind him. He shakes his head, collecting himself before ignoring the brunette as they walk down the hallway. "You're <em>still</em> obsessed with her after all this time... even after she-"</p><p> </p><p>"I know." Landon interjects harshly, his shoulders slumping. "It's just... do you think she'd ever give me a second chance? Or maybe I could-"</p><p> </p><p>"No, I don't, because you didn't do anything wrong." Josie exasperates, rolling her eyes. "We've been through this. Hope Mikaelson is a bitch and she doesn't deserve you, not after junior year when she dumped you with literally <em>zero</em> explanation."</p><p> </p><p>Landon frowns, but doesn't say anything else, seeming to accept his defeat over the complicated subject. Josie stares at him as she walks, narrowing her gaze before letting out a soft sigh at the way his eyes lack their usual bright hue. He's upset, which is nowhere near a rare occurrence when it comes to Hope. </p><p> </p><p>Josie grasps his arm as they come to a halt in front of the Art room, and she smiles up towards him in an effort to raise his spirit. "Come on, Landon, cheer up a little. I know what she did still hurts, but it's been months. You should find someone that's actually worth your time, because she definitely isn't."</p><p> </p><p>To Josie's dismay, a pathetic grin that lasts only for a split second is all she receives in return from her friend before he turns his back on her and walks towards the History classroom without another word. It shouldn't be much of a surprise, she knows, but she can't help but feel disappointed in herself for failing to cheer him up.</p><p> </p><p>However, Josie also knows she's done all she can possibly do these past few months to help Landon move on. In the first wave of his heartache after Hope had broken up with him without any sort of explanation, he had showed up at the brunette's doorstep unannounced, his eyes empty and slightly red from crying. </p><p> </p><p>It was the first and only time Landon had allowed himself to break down in front of Josie, telling her the whole story through his state of despair about how Hope had seemingly been ignoring him for a week straight, and when he demanded answers, she broke up with him without a moment of hesitation.</p><p> </p><p>It didn't make any sense, and since then, Josie had been there for her friend through thick and thin. She was by his side all summer, along with the rest of their friends, supporting the boy after his heart had been broken. Needless to say, it truly wasn't an easy task to help him through it, even a simple smile took almost a whole month to finally appear on Landon's face.</p><p> </p><p>If it wasn't obvious to realize, Landon indeed fell for Hope way too quickly, and it inevitably came back to haunt him, especially when the auburn-haired girl didn't at all seem upset when she abruptly ended their relationship. The devastating look on his face each time he saw Hope smiling in the hallways with her friends, seemingly happy, is something Josie would never be able to forget.</p><p> </p><p>That had happened just a month before junior year ended, and even though five months had passed since Landon was dumped, and it's now senior year, the brunette still occasionally catches him staring at Hope - whether it's in the hallways, or during lunch. Josie has even caught him, probably way too often, being sidetracked at baseball practice, which just so happens to go on at the same time as softball practice, where Hope is the captain of the team.</p><p> </p><p>It surely doesn't help at all that both teams practice in fields that are not too far away from each other, as Landon is given the perfect opportunity to stare at Hope, rather than practice alongside his team or watch for any stray baseballs that may be flying straight towards him. </p><p> </p><p>Pushing the reminiscent thoughts aside, Josie saunters into the Art classroom and quickly finds her assigned seat, setting her binder and folders upon the desk after sitting down. Just as the brunette begins to flip through her art folder, her phone vibrates from it's position in her back pocket. She slips it out quickly, keeping her hold on the device beneath the table to be subtle. </p><p> </p><p>As her eyes fall upon a new Gmail notification on the bright screen, Josie bites her lip to suppress an immediate smile, yet fails miserably. There was no point in attempting to hide it, as the intense feeling she receives while emailing Luna is much too heavy for her to try and ignore. The feeling of being completely understood, even within just the few days they had been talking, was simply euphoric.</p><p> </p><p>Even within the short amount of time they had been exchanging emails, Josie feels as if the anonymous girl is a kindred spirit, and she could simply tell the girl anything, and she would wholeheartedly understand. The brunette is not sure of the reason why she feels so trusting of Luna, or why she had even responded to the girl's first email to begin with, but she definitely isn't complaining. </p><p> </p><p>Josie begins to unlock her phone to read the email just before class starts, but the feeling of eyes watching her causes her actions to cease, and she swiftly lifts her head. Caroline sits at her desk towards the front of the room, studying her daughter closely, an advising expression upon her face.</p><p> </p><p>She recoils beneath the gaze, knowing the woman is aware she has her phone out. Although the teacher is her mother, the brunette knows she's still required to abide by the rules. Josie sends her mother a sheepish smile before quickly sliding her phone back into the pocket, the email forgotten about just for now. </p><p> </p><p>The classroom was only halfway filled with the period's usual students, meaning she had arrived a little early. It was typical for most students to walk in and take their seats at the very last second before the bell rang, so she figures today is no different. </p><p> </p><p>Art has always been Josie's favorite class, and not just because her mother is the teacher and is less strict on certain things with her. The brunette's favorite pastime is drawing, or anything art-related, sharing admiration of the subject along with her mother.</p><p> </p><p>She even adores the look of the classroom, the scent of paint swirling through the air from previous classes and alluring decorations scattered around the room. The brunette had helped her mother garnish the classroom before the school year began, and most of the organizational and decorative aspect was all her idea.</p><p> </p><p>As much as Josie looks forward to attending her favorite class everyday, there was just one <em>absolutely insufferable</em> downside. </p><p> </p><p>Right on cue, Hope Mikaelson bursts through the open door of the Art room just as the bell rings though the intercom. The auburn-haired girl glances around, her breathing accelerated slightly as she walks quickly towards her seat, which just so happens to be the empty chair right beside Josie. <em>Of course</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"Hope, please try and make it to class a little sooner, honey. If I were a different kind of teacher, you would have just been marked tardy." Caroline reprimands the girl with a gentle tone as she stands from her desk, beginning to walk towards the door to shut it. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, Miss Forbes. I forgot my art pencils in my locker, so I had to go back, and then..." Hope spills out breathlessly, the girl seemingly exhausted from running to make it to class on time. She shakes her head, thinking better than to ramble. "It won't happen again."</p><p> </p><p>At how incredibly pathetic the excuse truly sounds, as if it was a lie, Josie doesn't even bother to stop her eyes from rolling. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i know it’s literally been almost a year since i updated either of my works and i’m so sorry lmao. my life has been hectic. between school and working 40 hours a week, i barely have any free time. but i’m starting to find some time so i’m getting back into my hobbies, including writing. hope this chapter wasn’t bad and i hope you’re still interested in my fic :) </p><p>oh p.s, did i forget to mention this is kind of a one-sided enemies to lovers au? oops. p.p.s, josie’s petty af.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>another attempt of me being creative (i guess? lol) i'm a little excited about this bc i love the movie and haven't seen anybody else take a shot at writing an au, so here it is. let me know your thoughts &lt;3 </p><p>p.s sorry this was short, it was just the introduction. next chapter will be much longer.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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